


Just Answer the Door

by iwriteiloveiam



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Blood Shed, Epic, F/M, Lives ruined, Veronica is a badass, even when she is heartbroken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 06:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwriteiloveiam/pseuds/iwriteiloveiam
Summary: ‘Veronica, look, if you could just call me back, I can explain everything. What you saw-it wasn’t what it looked like, I swear. Please, I know I screwed up, but I never meant to-’That’s where the ninth voicemail he’d left that day cut off, but she could fill in the blanks. It was the messed-up Mad Libs version of her life, only no matter how creative she got with the adjectives, the story was always the same: cheating boyfriend, ensuing heartbreak.





	Just Answer the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Over the years, I've fallen completely in love with Veronica and Logan's story. Now it's time for me to bring their tumultuous relationship to the page :) 
> 
> Takes place after Season 2, somewhere along that rocky road of theirs in Season 3. 
> 
> Comments, of course, always welcome :)

_‘Veronica, look, if you could just call me back, I can explain everything. What you saw-it wasn’t what it looked like, I swear. Please, I know I screwed up, but I never meant to-’_

That’s where the ninth voicemail he’d left that day cut off, but she could fill in the blanks. It was the messed-up Mad Libs version of her life, only no matter how creative she got with the adjectives, the story was always the same: cheating boyfriend, ensuing heartbreak.

She’d helped others through this before, was Mac’s shoulder to cry on after Cassidy, Wallace’s rock when Jackie left for New York; she was even there for Duncan when Meg died, helped him escape with their newborn child. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t heard the sob fest a million times; half of her late-night stakeouts were solely dedicated to catching the unfaithful in the act. Every conspicuously-closed curtain, every nasty position and stolen kiss and soiled bedsheet: it was all on camera. Her camera. Every picture flashed across her mind, a slideshow of betrayal, remorse, regret. She scanned through them, hoping to glimpse a sign, a clue, a red flag, something that could finally bring her peace, a reason, something that could make this one case the exception, something that could make everything okay. She needed reassurance. _Logan isn’t like them. He didn’t look like that. He-_ but the memory she tried so hard to supress resurfaced with violent vividness; luckily, she made it to the bathroom this time.

After flushing the contents of the meager portion of toast she’d been able to swallow this morning, Veronica Mars wrapped herself in her comforter at the end of the bed and tried to forget the world. For a few moments, it was only dark. She felt her body relax, her stomach loosen from the anger that had twisted it into knots. Finally, she could breathe again. There was nothing but her chest, rising and falling evenly, and the cool caress of pillows left untouched by sleepless nights to anchor her, but it was enough. She sighed, letting herself sink into the silence. She was so desperate just to sleep…

 _Ding!_ The sound cut through the air like a pin, the small, utterly insignificant little noise that burst the bubble of her imagined peace and brought walls crashing down to ruins. _That was **IT**._ She threw the covers off without thinking and launched herself at her phone, abandoned haphazardly amidst her sheets, a lion prepared to devour its kill. Unlocking it without looking, she began to type out a slew of foul words – any innovative insult that came to mind, really – when the message suddenly dawned on her.

_I’m outside._

Now _that_ made her actually laugh out loud. Just who exactly did he think he was, showing up- oh, that’s right, an egotistically-inflated, pig-headed, brain-washed, rich jackass with a whopping red bullseye across his forehead and a dependable death wish. Lucky for him, Keith Mars wasn’t here to dust off that old sniper rifle she knew he kept hidden in the coat closet; otherwise, there’d be a very real bullet between those wandering brown eyes. Granted, she was a good shot, too, but if she was going to kill Logan Echolls in cold blood, she’d prefer to add a personal touch: something along the lines of watching the life drain slowly from his writhing, gasping body, her hands at his neck. Not too messy, but just as satisfying. And she’d probably want him to beg for mercy first, you know, face his regret head-on: the cherry on top to her sweet, _sweet_ revenge.

Of course, he wasn’t worth all the effort. Or the hard time she’d serve in a woman’s maximum-security prison. As much as she’d love the cafeteria food, orange wasn’t really her colour, and life as the blonde bimbo girlfriend of a gal named _Buzz_ just wasn’t in the cards. But hey, a girl could dream, no?

Although, that being said, with murder regrettably taken off the table, that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little, harmless fun. Smiling almost manically, she started to describe in fine detail _precisely_ what she thought Logan should go to do himself when he beat her to the punch.

_Just answer the door, Veronica._

She could hear the desperation in his voice, the jaded sigh, the ‘I’m-too-old-for-this-crap’ shake of his head, the one-hand run-through of his hair, the clenched teeth that bit back the forming ‘I’m-not-getting-my-way-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do’ tears. Oh, and there it was. A heavy knock. The peaked anger of a frustrated man on death-row, about to face the electric chair, begging to repent. But before she could send her response and wipe her hands clean of this, another message came through.

_Please._

_This guy, am I right?_ Okay, so, she wasn’t completely heartless. Did he deserve a second chance? No. Was she willing to listen to him try to explain how his tongue ended up in Kendall Casablancas’ mouth? Another no. But, did curiosity often get the best of her? You could say that. He had to know there was no way he could talk himself out of this one, not this time. She’d _seen_ them; she already had enough evidence to convict. No matter how smooth and charming and invincible he thought himself, he was about to go up against her steely resolve, which was notorious for breaking even the strongest of wills. So what was he doing on her doorstep? She knew he liked a challenge, but she single-handedly had the entirety of Neptune wrapped around her finger; there was no safe she couldn’t crack, liar she couldn’t weasel out, or cheeko she couldn’t get to confess (eventually). Hell, she put murderers and cheaters and thugs away as a hobby! She was a stone-hearted bloodhound, baby, and Logan Echolls was never _ever_ going to get under her skin that easily again. She was taking her heart back, even if it was in pieces and she had to pry them out of his hands (a few broken bones later). Using a baseball bat. And a taser. And a really big knife. And a-

“Oh no, I must not have gotten the memo,” she rose to her tip-toes as she opened the door to face her ex-boyfriend and peered out at the cloudless night sky, “Huh. That’s funny. I don’t _see_ any pigs flying. Oh goody- does this mean? Hell finally did it, huh? Froze over? Whew, what a relief, for a second there I was starting to get worried” She smiled brightly and put a hand to her hip, leaning against the doorframe casually, waiting for that classic smirk. She was pleased to see his expression remained cast in grey storm clouds. After a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, her smile faded. “What do you want, Logan?”

His eyes raked her up and down slowly, unsure of what to say. She ignored the hot chill it sent down her spine and tapped her wrist impatiently, “Places to be, things to do, so if you could just…” She cursed the slight tremble in her voice.

Finally, sarcasm seemed to win out. So did the smirk. But there was a different, almost easy edge to it-like he couldn’t help but let it slip at the sight of her. “Well, don’t you look lovely. I like the PJs. They suit you.”

Well, now he was just being delusional. There was no way her Winnie-the-Pooh themed bottoms and ratty Green Day tee were, in any sense of the word, “lovely.” Not to mention the mismatched pink and purple fuzzy sock combo and makeshift towel turban on top of her head, held together by a black headband, that made her look like she had just stepped out of a comic book, or a bad Nickelodeon cartoon– no, no his flattery was inexcusable. He was just playing nice, trying to get on her good side, ease the tension. No one could pull off that outfit confidently in front of a boy like him – she might as well pair it with some electric green crocs, a carton of B and J’s _Phish Food_ , and black-smudged, weepy makeup to really drive home that “I’m-desperately-and-hopelessly-in-love-with-an-asshole” look. Did she have the greasy pizza stains, too? Oh, and, braless. Excellent. She was currently writing the sad checklist of “what-not-to-do” when you have an easily accessible apartment and a jerk trying to make up with you. To be fair, he didn’t look that much better. Worse was the word, actually. 

“Insults, Logan, really? That’s how you want this to go?”

Just like that, the smirk was gone, replaced with guilt. _Now we’re getting to the good part. The Oscar-worthy moment. Lay it on me, bucko._  Too bad she didn’t make any popcorn or bust out the lawn chair like she normally did when she watched justice being ruthlessly served at her own hand. “No,” Logan paused. It seemed he hadn’t really prepared all that much for an apology. _Well, obviously, you didn’t expect to get caught, did ya, buddy?_

After a moment grappling with some internal demons, unable to voice whatever lame-o excuse he was forming in his head, Veronica feigned a large, bored yawn and started to shut the door when he stuck his foot in to jam it.

“Logan-”

“Look,” he leaned against the doorframe. She’d never seen him so…vulnerable. Pathetic. _Stay strong, Veronica._ “Can I come in? Just for a, a second? Please? I promise you can kick me out as soon as you hear what I have to say.”

“Logan,” she sighed. As much as she wanted to rip him to shreds and let Back-up lick his bones clean, she realized she couldn’t do this with him. Not right now. Not when he looked like he’d been to hell and back already. “I’m not sure anything you say will change-”

“Please, Veronica, I think-” Logan swallowed, hard, and then drew a shaky, sob-ridden breath. “I think I killed someone.”


End file.
